


every time we touch

by aethernity



Category: Super Sentai Series, Zyuden Sentai Kyoryuger
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aethernity/pseuds/aethernity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not too sure what he's feeling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every time we touch

He’s not sure why his heart skips a beat every time Ian winks at him, or why his skin tingles whenever their hands so much as brush against the other’s. Souji doesn’t know, doesn’t understand, and not knowing frustrates him to no end. 

So he ignores it.

He pretends not to notice when Ian drapes himself over him, acting as though it’s the most normal thing in the world. Daigo and Ian are all over each other anyway, so why should this be any different? He doesn’t smile when Ian cracks a joke or tries yet another lousy pick-up line on one of the others, rolls his eyes when Ian steals his cream soda, thwacks the other on the head with his wooden sword when he tries anything funny in practice. Every time Ian gets closer, Souji pushes him away - because if they can’t touch, if Ian’s hand isn’t on Souji’s shoulder, then Souji can continue pretending. Pretending his stomach doesn’t drop, pretending he just dislikes physical contact, pretending, pretending, pretending.

If he pretends hard enough, Souji thinks, maybe he can delude himself into believing it instead.

It never deters Ian, though. He laughs and jokes around as usual, continues to clap Souji on the back after every battle battle, to grin at Souji with that little spark in his eyes, put an arm around Souji and lean on him as if it’s the most natural thing to do. Souji just pushes him away. Every time. Yet every time, the strange feeling is replaced by another - emptiness, almost, a dull twinge of _something_ much worse than the butterflies in his stomach every time Ian’s hand brushes his.

He never says anything, though, but after a while, Souji grudgingly stops pushing Ian away. 

Because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Souji finds himself thinking that Ian, with the sun in his eyes and the wind in his hair, is beautiful.


End file.
